My sister sent a picture of our old house to us last week. As we spoke about it, I got emotional.
Ma sold the house because the area was infested with mosquitoes due to bad drainage, and it had started to flood. We coerced her to move out. I feel guilty for having made her do it but it seemed like the right thing to do then, although Ma constantly talks about the old house and I often still dream of the old house because we grew up in it and all our memories of Pa are in the old house. It is difficult to part with that.
All my childhood memories are embedded within our humble old house. Playing by the pond my uncle had made, running with my dogs in the garden, catching rabbits in their pens, sitting by the porch waiting for Pa to come home with toys he'd often buy for me. I do miss him terribly and wish I had been a more obedient girl.
My parents were vegetable vendors in the area and we grew up in a household with just-enough. And just-enough is good enough. We grew up with hand-me-downs. We often had to help out at home although being the youngest spared me from many chores. No matter how little our parents had, they always made sure we got the best. And we had every meal at home, cooked by Ma. We sat on the floor and ate on a round coffee table every day together. Looking back, that was what shaped us. That formed us as a family.
Our lives pretty much revolved around food. We had fresh vegetables and fish daily. Nothing expensive or luxurious but fresh, clean produce from the market. No matter how busy, Ma would cook. Pa was often in and out of the hospital due to his health, but Ma would still cook. It was cheaper to eat at home, and she would bring food to the hospital. Although we weren't well to do, Pa would sometimes ask Ma to pack food for the rest in the same ward. It was sharing whatever little he had to make someone else feel loved through the simple gesture of a home cooked meal.
Growing up, I didn't care much about it. But it means the world to me now.
Blessed is the moment you get to sit on the same table and eat the simple home cooked fare with all your family members. This place is home, it is safe and you are loved.
A few months ago, Ma gave me some old plates she had moved from the old house. Plates she had collected from a few decades ago - some from a British family before they moved back to England. Because bits and pieces of things moved from the old house are now so precious to me, I cherish them much. I hope I can hand these down to the next generation in our family, but most importantly I hope we can hand down the values our parents had taught us.
